Chapter 62
OUR FLIGHT BACK to San Francisco left at 4:00 p.m. I hated, hated to leave without a name. Especially when I felt we were so close. Somebody famous.
Kinky.
Why were they protecting him?
Anyway, we had accomplished a lot in just two days. It was clear to me that all three murders were committed by the same person. We had a strong lead tying him to San Francisco, a possible identity, a confirmed description. The trail was warm here, and would grow ever hotter when we got home.
Both investigations would proceed locally. Cleveland would contact the Seattle police force to do a search of the bride’s home. Maybe something in her personal effects, an address book, an e-mail in her computer, would divulge who her San Francisco lover was.
Waiting to board our plane out of Cleveland, I called my voice mail for messages. One each from Cindy and Claire inquiring about my trip, our case. Reporters pushing for my comments on the Cleveland crime.
Then I heard the throaty voice of Merrill Shortley. She had left her California number.
I punched the number as fast as I could. A housekeeper answered, and I could hear the wail of a baby crying.
When Merrill got on, I could tell that some of her cool veneer had cracked. “I was thinking,” she began, “there was something I didn’t mention yesterday.”
“Yes? That’s good to hear.”
“This guy I told you about? The one Kathy was hooked up with in San Francisco? I was telling you the truth. I never knew his name.”
“Okay, I hear you.”
“But there were some things…I said he didn’t treat her well. He was into intense sex games. Props, scenarios. Maybe even a little filming. Problem was, Kathy liked the games.”
There was a long pause before Merrill went on. “Well…I think he pushed her, forced her, to do more than she was comfortable with. I remember marks on her face, bruises on her legs. Mostly it was her spirit that was broken. None of us were exactly bringing home Tom Cruise then, but there was a time when Kathy was real scared. She was in his control.”
I began to see where this was heading. “It’s why she moved away, isn’t it?” I said.
I could hear Merrill Shortley sigh on the other end. “Yes, it was.”
“Then why did she continue to see him from Seattle? You said she was involved with him right up to the end.”
“I never said,” Merrill Shortley replied, “that Kathy knew what was good for her.”
Now I saw Kathy Kogut’s life take on the shape of tragic inevitability. I was sure she had fled San Francisco, tried to break away from the grip of this man. But she couldn’t break free.
Was that true of the other murdered brides?
“I need a name, Ms. Shortley. Whoever this was, he might’ve killed your friend. There are four others. The longer he’s out there, the greater the chance he’ll do it again.”
“I told you, I don’t know his name, Inspector.”
I raised my voice above the din in the terminal. “Merrill, someone must know. You knew her for years, partied together.”
Merrill hesitated. “In her own way, Kathy was loyal. She said his name was well known. Some kind of celebrity. Someone I would know. She was protecting him. Or maybe protecting herself.”
My mind raced to the film and music businesses. She was into a bad scene. She was in over her head, and like many people who feel trapped, she ran. She just couldn’t get far enough away.
“She must’ve told you something,” I pressed. “What he did? Where he lived? Where they would meet? You guys were like sisters.” Wicked sisters?
“I swear, Inspector. I’ve been racking my brain.”
“Then someone must know. Who? Tell me.”
I heard Merrill Shortley let out a mirthless laugh. “Ask her sister.”